


Insatiable

by missselene



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Foot Jobs, M/M, Marathon Sex, Oral Sex, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-10
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:28:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missselene/pseuds/missselene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock’s libido is as strange and full of contradictions as the man himself. It lies dormant most of the time, but every few weeks, it goes haywire. Can John keep up with Sherlock when the only thing he wants is sex, and then more sex?</p>
<p>(Spoiler alert: yes, he can.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think it goes without saying that this fic is not meant to be realistic.

Sherlock’s libido is as strange and full of contradictions as the man himself. It lies dormant most of the time, just another facet of his transport that Sherlock barely notices. John has learned not to take it personally that even though the status of their relationship has changed, he often has to make do with wanks in the shower, only imagining Sherlock’s plush lips wrapped around his cock. Not that Sherlock isn’t uncharacteristically giving when it comes to sex – he’s made it abundantly clear in the beginnings of their relationship that he’d gladly pleasure John in any way John may think of even when his own interest is lacking, but John has found he prefers his own hand to an unenthusiastic partner. Still, he doesn’t mind – because every now and then, Sherlock can be persuaded into a round of gentle but intense, affirming love-making that puts to rest any doubts John may have about Sherlock’s love and desire for him.

But that’s not all. The most amazing thing about Sherlock’s libido is that roughly every two months, it just goes haywire. John hasn’t yet discovered what brings it on, other than it usually happens during a lull between cases, when Sherlock has been bored for a while. It’s like when Sherlock’s mind is idle for once, his body will take over, and its only imperative is to fuck now.

John always notices it before Sherlock does. Sherlock will be distracted and irritable all day, uncomfortable in his own skin but unconsciously sensual: licking his lips, touching his neck, stroking his thighs. He’ll think he’s just bored, not realising it’s his libido waking up and requesting what Sherlock has been denying his body in the last few weeks. John will know what it is, though: he knows the signs, and he’ll spend most of the day trying to stifle his own growing arousal, waiting until Sherlock is ready. Sherlock won’t realise what’s going on until he catches himself doing something blatantly obvious, like humping the sofa. Or, like now, sitting in his chair with his legs spread wide and rubbing his crotch absently while he scrolls down on his phone.

John, seated in his own chair opposite Sherlock and pretending to read the paper, sees the exact moment Sherlock notices what he’s doing: he freezes, and his face flushes – because he’s embarrassed, but also because his arousal quadruples the moment he becomes aware of it. Sherlock looks up at John, flustered, to see if he noticed, and finds John looking straight at him with a knowing smirk on his face. John can hear Sherlock’s breath catch in his throat.

“I don’t think you’ll be needing your phone anymore, will you?” John says, and God, it’s _beautiful_ , watching Sherlock’s reactions to his voice: his flush deepens, his pupils blow wide, his breathing grows fast and audible.

“No,” Sherlock says with a bad imitation of his usual self-assurance, and places his phone on the small table next to his chair. He’s always a little shy at the beginning, a little spooked by the way his body reacts when it’s high-jacked by want, but John knows his reserve won’t last very long.

“Go on, then,” John says when Sherlock looks at him for guidance, indicating Sherlock’s tented trousers, and hides himself behind his paper.

“John?” Sherlock asks uncertainly.

“I just want to finish reading this article,” John lies. “You keep touching yourself, I know how much you need it.”

He can feel Sherlock hesitate, but a moment later he hears the tell-tale whisper of skin against clothing as Sherlock strokes himself through his trousers, and he grins. Soon there are little sighs escaping Sherlock’s lips and John looks at him over his paper, finding out that he no longer needs to pretend to be reading: Sherlock’s eyes are closed, his head thrown back in pleasure as he grinds his palm against his cock. 

John watches him silently for a while, marvelling at how quickly Sherlock has gone from prim and composed to flushed and wanton. His lips are parted and simply begging to be kissed, releasing soft sighs and hums of pleasure that grow steadily more intense.

“Yeah, like that, keep going,” John tells him, knowing Sherlock likes listening to him, and Sherlock immediately begins rubbing himself harder, hips canting forward. He looks absolutely _edible_ like this, and John can’t help himself anymore: he toes off his shoes and places one foot on Sherlock’s chair, between his spread legs. Sherlock’s eyes fly open at this, unfocused, but he only needs a second to realise what John’s after. He shifts, bringing the hard outline of his cock in contact with the sole of John’s foot, and groans.

“Hands off,” John warns him when Sherlock tries to bring John’s foot closer, and Sherlock obeys, digging his fingers into the arms of his chair as his hips thrust upwards. 

“That’s it,” John encourages him, pressing his foot harder against Sherlock’s erection, firm and hot and doubtless leaking copiously into his underwear by now. “Go on, get yourself off.”

_“John,”_ Sherlock moans, and he’s so hot like this, still in his suit but with his face reddened and his hair a mess, rutting against John’s foot like a bitch in heat. And that’s just the beginning, John knows: Sherlock needs orgasm after orgasm when he gets like this, and John’s the one who gets to give them to him.

Sherlock’s movements get frantic and his voice louder, the thrusts of his hips so powerful that John has trouble keeping his foot in place.

“John, _please!_ I need --!”

“Yes, c’mon, Sherlock,” John urges him on, and Sherlock takes that as permission to disobey the previous order and takes hold of John’s instep to keep his foot impossibly closer, the contact more intense.

“Oh, yes! _Yes!_ ” Sherlock’s cock twitches under John’s sole as he comes, thrusting frantically.

Sherlock slumps in his chair and John removes his foot carefully: he’s so hard it feels like the slightest movement could set him off.

“There, very good. Satisfied?” John asks, knowing the answer. It will take far more than a footjob to satisfy Sherlock.

Sherlock looks at him from under his lashes, breathing hard. John wants to fuck him right now, bend him over the sofa and take him, but he knows he needs to keep himself in check in order to keep up with Sherlock.

“Go get yourself cleaned up,” John tells him. “And then wait for me in the bedroom.”

Sherlock nods, and John can see re-awakening interest in his eyes already, as he gets up on unsteady feet and moves to the bathroom. John breathes deeply and tries to get himself under control. He strips to his pants and vest and goes to the kitchen to prepare the necessities: a bottle of water to quench their thirst, a bowl of water and a flannel to clean them up, a chocolate bar to keep their strength. He waits a bit and then carries it all precariously to the bedroom.

Sherlock’s waiting for him spread out on the bed, naked and half hard again already. John nearly drops everything at the sight of him, but manages to deposit it safely on the bedside table, and then he lunges at Sherlock.

Sherlock responds enthusiastically, sucking John’s tongue into his mouth like it’s his life source, stroking everywhere he can reach.

“John,” he breathes against John’s neck, voice full of want. “John.”

“I love it when you get like this, so desperate for me,” John pants as he settles himself on his back and pulls Sherlock between his legs, their erections rubbing against each other.

“Yes,” Sherlock moans in agreement, thrusting against him. John tries to reach the bedside table drawer blindly, but before he manages it Sherlock’s already pressing a bottle of lube into his palm. “Fuck me,” Sherlock whispers against John’s mouth before kissing him hungrily.

John uncaps the bottle clumsily and slicks his fingers, dipping two fingers between Sherlock’s buttocks. Sherlock makes a delightful needy noise as John rubs and teases his hole, moving erratically, clearly undecided which way he wants to thrust. John dips one finger in and circles the rim, drawing a long moan from Sherlock.

Before John knows it, Sherlock switches their positions. He spreads his legs wide and places a pillow under his hips, looking debauched with his cock leaking and his hole glistening with lube, lisp swollen and red from kisses.

“John, _please!_ ” he begs, and John doesn’t waste any more time. He adds some more lube on his hand and then plunges two fingers in at once, knowing Sherlock can take it.

_“Yesss!”_ Sherlock shouts, nearly lifting himself off the bed in an attempt to impale himself further on John’s fingers, the ring of muscle greedily drawing them in. “More!”

Never one to deny Sherlock anything, John begins fucking him with his fingers, and uses his other hand to hold Sherlock’s cock steady before he takes it into his mouth.

John takes Sherlock apart mercilessly: he hollows his cheeks and sucks hard while moving his fingers in and out of Sherlock and a relentless pace, and Sherlock’s incoherent, moaning and panting, writhing in helpless pleasure. John crooks his fingers, knowing exactly where to aim for, and rubs at Sherlock’s prostate.

“ _Aaahh, there_! John, please, that’s _hnnng_ , I’m gonna, I’m…” he breaks off with a displeased whine when John suddenly withdraws his fingers and lets Sherlock fall out of his mouth.

“ _John,”_ he whines, something between a needy and bossy. His cock is flush against his belly, wet with John’s saliva, and his stretched hole looks painfully empty, trying to close around nothing.

“Just a second, love,” John soothes him, stroking Sherlock’s thigh as he lubes himself up. Sherlock’s eyes are fixed on the hand moving up and down John’s cock. John puts on a bit of a show, stroking himself at a leisurely pace, knowing it will dive Sherlock wild. Sherlock watches him, panting helplessly and obviously dying to plunge is own fingers into himself to finish what John so cruelly didn’t. But he doesn’t, because he knows he can only touch himself when John tells him to.

“There’s good boy,” John praises him as he positions himself between Sherlock’s legs. He teases Sherlock’s rim with the head of his cock, pushing only the tip in as Sherlock’s breathing gets impossibly shallower, and then he grips Sherlock’s hips to keep them still and rams in.

Sherlock _screams_ , his back arching as tight heat envelops John and then clenches around him as Sherlock comes, thick strips of come landing on his belly.

John grits his teeth as Sherlock rides out his orgasm, trying not to come as well. Not yet.

“That was gorgeous, Sherlock,” he whispers against Sherlock’s sweat-damp curls, kissing his face gently. “I love watching you come.”

Sherlock only hums in response, momentarily sated, but John knows it’s not going to last long. He keeps as still as he can, waiting for Sherlock to wind down a little. When he feels he’s given Sherlock enough time to recover, he begins to move inside him.

“All right?” he asks when Sherlock makes a low keening sound.

Sherlock nods. “Just go slowly.”

“Of course, love.” John moves very gently, rocking against Sherlock’s warm body. He buries his face in Sherlock’s shoulder, breathing him in, as his minute thrusts send shivers of intense arousal through him. Soon enough, he feels Sherlock’s spent cock twitch in renewed interest again.

“I love you,” Sherlock whispers as he wraps his arms and legs around John. That’s an added bonus of Sherlock’s bouts of intense sexual need: he’s so out of his mind with want he lets things like that slip out much more easily than usual. “I love you.”

John kisses him thoroughly, moving with a little more purpose now but still careful not to cross the line between pleasure and pain. He needn’t have worried, though: soon, Sherlock’s heels dig into his thighs, urging him on.

“Deeper, John, I need— _Johhnn!”_ John keeps a rhythm of slow, deep thrusts that are, to him, almost unbearable in their intensity. He pulls out almost all the way, only to push back as far as he can, drawing deep, almost continuous moans from Sherlock. Gradually, Sherlock’s voice gets louder, his fingers dig into John’s back harder, and John knows he only needs to hold out for a little while before he gives Sherlock his third orgasm of the night and then he can finally, _finally_ come too.

“Touch yourself,” he tells Sherlock as he begins to thrust faster, unable to pace himself any longer

_“John, John, John!”_ Sherlock cries out at every thrust as he tugs at himself with rapid strokes, and John can’t take it anymore, his balls feel ready to burst. He drives into Sherlock hard and fast, the bed creaking with every slap of skin against skin.

“Come for me, love,” he grits between his teeth, and that’s all it takes. Sherlock is quiet this time, letting out only a sharp gasp as his body goes rigid, his cock not producing much as it twitches between them. John pounds into him two more times and finally reaches his own climax, spending himself inside Sherlock’s trembling body.

He collapses on top of Sherlock who doesn’t seem to mind, wrapping his arms around John as the aftershocks die down.

“Love you,” John murmurs against Sherlock’s sweaty neck. Sherlock only hums in response, apparently too exhausted for anything more at the moment. But it’s only temporary, John knows. Sherlock will only need a while to recover his strength, and the night is still young.


	2. Chapter 2

When John’s breathing and heartrate have gone down a little, he reaches for the wet flannel and cleans off the worst of the drying come, lube and sweat. There’s not much point to it, really, since they’re bound to get filthy again in no time, but he likes to make sure Sherlock is taken care of in every way. 

“All right, love?” he asks Sherlock as he hands him the bottle of water.

Sherlock just nods, drinking half the bottle in big gulps. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and settles himself with his head on John’s shoulder. John takes a drink too and then pulls Sherlock even closer, brushing damp curls from his forehead. Sherlock gives him a gentle smile, eyes full of affection.

They kiss sleepily for a while – a really very short while if you ask John’s spent body – but soon Sherlock is rocking against him again, rubbing his rapidly stiffening cock against John’s thigh.

“How are you hard again already?” John mutters. He’d hoped that after three orgasms in quick succession, Sherlock would need a little while longer to recover, but apparently his refractory period is still within the range of single minutes.

Sherlock stills immediately and then scrambles to pull away.

“Sorry,” he blurts, looking away. “I’m—you don’t have to…”

“No, no, love.” John reaches for him, lifting Sherlock’s head gently and looking into his eyes. “I am _not_ complaining,” he enunciates clearly. “Far from it. I just wish I was twenty years younger so that I could keep up with you.”

Sherlock bites his lip, still looking a little anxious.

“I know it would be easier if I was… normal,” he says, and John’s heart twists. He knows there are still insecurities lodged deep within Sherlock’s soul, that he still worries he won’t be good enough for John. He’s gotten much better at accepting John’s love than he was at the beginning, but John knows that there’s still a long way to go.

“Sherlock,” he says, gently but firmly. “I love you just as you are, you know that. I love you when you just want to cuddle and I love you when you want to fuck like rabbits, and neither of it is a hardship to me. I don’t want you to change.”

Sherlock looks at him with wide eyes, a soft blush colouring his cheeks, and then he sighs softly and nods, an adorably earnest expression on his face.

“Now, where were we,” John says and reaches for Sherlock’s erection, which has flagged a little due to Sherlock’s nervousness. John could use Sherlock’s decrease of interest to rest a little, but he doesn’t want to anymore. He strokes up and down Sherlock’s length slowly. Sherlock shudders and sighs deeply, his body melting closer to John.

“You know what I’ve been wondering,” John whispers against Sherlock’s lips as Sherlock’s erection quickly fills again in his grip. “What did you do about this before we got together?”

“It wasn’t—“ Sherlock breathes between kisses, “it wasn’t like that, before you. I didn’t need— _oh, hmmmm_ —didn’t need to orgasm more than two or three times.”

John chuckles. “Are you saying it’s me who turned you into an insatiable beast? I’m flattered, I think.” He thinks about Sherlock taking care of his sexual needs by himself, and has a sudden idea.

He sits up, propping himself against a pile of pillows and the headboard, and positions Sherlock between his spread legs, half sitting, half lying with his long back against John’s chest, his neck at the perfect height for John to kiss and nibble at it.

“So how did you use to get yourself off?” he whispers in Sherlock’s ear as he runs his hands all over Sherlock’s chest before licking at his earlobe and then taking it between his teeth, not biting, just letting him feel a slight pressure.

“I don’t think I need to explain the concept of masturbation to you, of all people,” Sherlock says rather brusquely, squirming in John’s arms impatiently because John’s not touching his cock anymore.

“Come on, Sherlock, be a good boy. You know that’s not what I was asking about. How did you touch yourself? Describe it to me. Did you think about me?”

“Sometimes.” John wants to ask why only sometimes, but he thinks he knows the answer, and so he doesn’t. Sherlock tilts his head to one side, wordlessly begging John to give more attention to his neck. 

“What did you do to yourself?” John asks before attaching his lips to Sherlock’s pulse point, sucking gently, then harder.

“I—I… _John_ ,” Sherlock whines, squirming. John can see Sherlock’s cock over his shoulder, flushed dark against the pale skin of his abdomen, and perhaps he’s simply too aroused for coherent sentences.

“Let me guess,” John husks, taking pity on him “You did this.” He moves one hand to Sherlock’s right nipple, holding Sherlock’s hips still with the other. “Teased those sensitive nipples, didn’t you? Like this.” He rolls the firm bud between his fingers, stroking and squeezing.

“ _Yes, yes!_ ” Sherlock moans. It’s unclear whether it’s the answer to John’s question or just a mindless vocalisation of Sherlock’s enjoyment, but it doesn’t matter. John rubs one nipple and then the other as Sherlock writhes and arches in his arms, and then he lets his other hand dip between Sherlock’s legs, cupping his sac in his palm.

“I bet you drew it out sometimes, didn’t you? You were dying to touch your cock, but you didn’t, you drew it out until you were gagging for it, didn’t you? Just like now.”

_“John, John,_ ” Sherlock pants, and as John dips his fingers lower to press against Sherlock’s perineum and Sherlock moans, it occurs to John that Sherlock loves anal stimulation, and surely during all his celibate years he didn’t make do with just his fingers.

“Did you use toys?” he asks, stopping all movement.

“John, _please_ ,” Sherlock all but sobs, desperate to get off, but John removes his hands from his body.

“Answer me, love. Did you use toys on yourself?”

“Yes.” The single word sends a powerful stab of arousal through John’s entire body, and he knows immediately what he wants to do.

“Show me,” he commands, and Sherlock, despite his obvious need to come, doesn’t protest at all and climbs out of bed on shaky legs to rummage through his chest of drawers. John smirks to himself as he watches Sherlock’s sweaty, trembling form take out shoe-sized box – he knows that Sherlock is utterly powerless against that tone of voice.

Sherlock brings the box to the bed, and in it John finds a thick, curved dildo and a sleek black butt plug. John finds the thought of Sherlock using either of them on himself intensely erotic, even before he notices that there is a remote for the butt plug.

“John, please,” Sherlock says again, looking at him pleadingly, pupils blown wide.

“Are they clean?” John asks, and when Sherlock nods, he takes out the butt plug and reaches for the lube. “Come back here.”

He waits for Sherlock to settle between his legs as he was before. His breathing’s ragged, cock rock hard and wet, and John doesn’t want to drag it out anymore. He slathers the toy with lube and then presses the tip against Sherlock’s opening, Sherlock’s legs falling wide open in invitation.

“Like this?” he asks, teasing Sherlock’s rim. Sherlock only moans in reply, but that’s all John needs, and he pushes the toy in, not in one sharp thrust but not slowly either.

“ _Ahhh, yes, more, more… yes!!!”_ Sherlock begs and then shouts in relief when the plug slips all the way in. Immediately, he shifts, sitting on the plug so that it presses more firmly against his prostate, and begins rocking slightly.

“Fuck, you’re so hot like this, d’you know?” John says as he wraps one arm around Sherlock’s chest and starts tugging at his cock. “So hot.” Sherlock lets out gasps and moans as his hips move frantically, grinding down against the toy, thrusting up inside John’s fist.

John reaches for the remote and turns on the vibrations. Sherlock’s reaction is immediate and stronger that John expected: his entire body jerks wildly and he shouts, gripping John’s legs hard enough to bruise.

“ _JohnJohnJohnJohn,_ ” he chants as he rocks faster, utterly wanton, and John fists his cock harder, wanting to give Sherlock the orgasm he so desperately needs. He moves the slider on the remote up a notch, and then, almost immediately, to the highest setting.

Sherlock’s climax is explosive. He screams John’s name and thrashes about violently, nearly dislodging John’s grip on him and producing far more come than should be possible for a fourth orgasm. It seems to go on forever, the vibrations drawing additional ripples of pleasure from Sherlock’s body as John strokes him through it. Before stimulation can give way to pain, though, John lets go of Sherlock’s cock and turns the vibrations off, and Sherlock sags limply into John’s embrace. He’s breathing hard, releasing a soft keening sound on every exhale.

“It’s all right, love, I’ve got you,” John whispers to him soothingly. “That was incredible, you did so well, so well.” He pulls the butt plug out gently and wipes the come from Sherlock’s stomach, murmuring endearments and praise to his ear all the while as he waits for Sherlock’s breathing to slow down.

“John,” Sherlock says, barely audible, and he sounds utterly wrung out. John makes a mental note to use the vibrating butt plug more often.

“Yes, love, I’m right here.” John tightens his arms around him, pulling Sherlock’s boneless weight closer to his chest.

“It’s you who’s incredible,” Sherlock says, slurring his words a little, and John is pretty sure Sherlock will need more than a couple of minutes to get his strength back this time. “Water?”

John reaches for the bottle, trying to jostle Sherlock as little as possible, and holds it up for him as Sherlock drinks. Then he finds the chocolate bar and feeds little pieces of it to Sherlock who lets them melt on his tongue, because chewing apparently requires too much effort right now. John feels warm and comfortable and protective with a simmering undercurrent of low-level arousal, but more than anything he feels fiercely proud and grateful that he gets to have this, that Sherlock lets himself entirely lose control with him and then trusts John to take care of him after. He can’t imagine anything better.


	3. Chapter 3

They rest for almost an hour, and John is stirred from a light doze when Sherlock begins squirming in his arms.

“How’re you feeling, love? You up for a shower?”

It turns out Sherlock is up for much more than just a shower. They lather each other’s bodies, standing close together under the stream, and soon Sherlock’s back to needy whines and pleas, his hands roaming all over John’s body. John blows him right there (despite his knees’ protests), Sherlock braced against the tiled wall, his moans swallowed by the rush of water.

Afterwards, John insists they eat something. At first, Sherlock seems happy with that, sipping his tea at the kitchen table and recuperating as he watches John busying himself at the stove. When John puts a plate of scrambled eggs on toast in front of him he tucks in willingly enough, but he’s only eaten a few mouthfuls when John feels Sherlock’s bare toe stroking his ankle and calf under the table.

“Come back to bed, John,” he says, voice husky, and when John looks up at him from his plate Sherlock’s eyes are fixed on the vee of John’s chest that’s not covered by his dressing gown, his gaze hungry and smouldering. John’s feels himself flush a little under the heated stare, and his cock gives an interested twitch.

“Finish your eggs first.”

Sherlock’s food moves higher up John’s leg, tickling the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. “Please.”

John shakes his head, uncompromising. “Eat, you need your strength. I don’t want you to pass out while you’re fucking me.”

Sherlock’s eyes widen comically, his face blushing scarlet, and then he begins shovelling eggs into his mouth.

“There’s a good boy,” John says smugly. “Don’t choke yourself.”

Sherlock finishes his meal in record time, and John barely has time to put the plates in the sink before Sherlock attaches himself to his back, one hand opening John’s dressing gown and cupping his cock.

“John,” he breathes against John’s ear, a needy little sound, and John can feel his erection pressing to the small of his back. “Will you really—will you let me…?”

“Oh yes,” John promises. He’s not nearly as sensitive to anal stimulation as Sherlock his, but he still finds the intimacy of having Sherlock inside him is incredibly arousing.

They barely make it back to bed, kissing hungrily all the way from the kitchen. Sherlock’s gasping and moaning already, but despite his obvious arousal and impatience, he prepares John very thoroughly, his long fingers stretching him and opening him up with the utmost care. He watches his fingers disappearing inside John like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m ready, Sherlock,” John prompts him, when it starts to look like Sherlock could probably get off simply on fingering John. “How do you want me?”

“On your knees,” Sherlock says shakily, and as John shifts his position, Sherlock lubes himself up clumsily, his hands shaking with anticipation.

John feels the blunt tip of Sherlock’s cock at his opening and pushes back a little.

“Come on, love,” John urges him, and Sherlock presses in in one slow, perfect stroke.

“Oh, _hnnnng_ ,” he groans as he buries himself in John’s body. He folds himself around John, pressing his chest against John’s back, hugging John to him. “John, John.”

“Fuck yes, you feel wonderful inside me, love, so hard. Just start moving when you’re ready.”

Sherlock begins rocking his hips slowly, the delicious drag of his cock inside John sending sparks of pleasure throughout his body. Sherlock gasp and sighs behind him, picking up speed only very gradually. Finally he finds his rhythm, fucking John steadily while still holding him close to his chest, his thrusts short but precise.

“That’s it, love, so good,” John encourages him, meeting Sherlock’s thrusts.

“John, I need… I need to go harder, please, can I?” Sherlock begs, sounding half out of his mind with want.

“Oh yes, come on, love, take what you need.”

Sherlock lets go of John chest and straightens, taking hold of John’s hips instead. John can feel him pull out almost completely and then push in, hard, with a deep growl.

“ _Fuck_ yeah, like that,” John grunts, as Sherlock fills him even deeper than before. “Don’t hold yourself back.”

Sherlock snaps his hips forward, groaning. He makes very different noises when he tops than at any other time, more animalistic, and John loves it. With John’s encouragement, Sherlock’s thrusts turn progressively more powerful, pounding into John like his life depends on it.

“ _Oooh_ —John—John—I need—Jo- _hnnng_ —you— _more,”_ Sherlock pants incoherently with every thrust.

“Harder,” John tells, not because _he_ likes it hard, but because he knows Sherlock needs it, and because he knows Sherlock finds it easier when given a direct command. “Fuck me harder, hard as you can.”

At that, Sherlock goes _wild._ He slams into John again and again, plunging his cock as deep as it will go, and it feels _incredible_. At this angle, he doesn’t really hit John’s prostate, but that’s for the best, really, because John doesn’t want to come yet, but it’s amazing anyway, to feel Sherlock so unrestrained. John’s going to feel this for days, but he doesn’t care, he only wants to give Sherlock the pleasure he needs.

Sherlock’s voice is hoarse by now, John’s name never leaving his lips as he rams his cock in at a brutal pace, the bed creaking under them and it feels like the entire world is shaking with the intensity of Sherlock’s thrusts. 

“Oh yes, _YES!”_ Sherlock’s thrusts get impossibly harder as he chases his release, his rhythm erratic now, and then he stills for one long second and John can feel his cock throb and pulse deep inside him. Sherlock groans loudly as he comes and fucks into John roughly two more times before finally relaxing.

Unable to keep themselves upright any longer, they collapse on top of each other on the bed. John hasn’t come yet but he feels like he’s made of jelly anyway – and _he_ only had to keep still and take it, he can’t imagine how Sherlock must feel.

“John, John,” Sherlock says with heaving breaths. “Thank you. I needed—I needed…”

“I know, love.” John is painfully hard – somehow, Sherlock lying next to him utterly wrung out from fucking John’s brains out is even more of a turn on than the act itself. He badly needs to get off, but he doesn’t think he’ll have enough strength for it for the next few days.

Sherlock, however, waits barely long enough to get his breath back before he finds the – now nearly empty – bottle of lube.

“Now you,” he says with a sense of purpose, and his slick hand closes around John’s cock, stroking up and down. John hums in pleasure and his eyes flutter closed. He’d hoped he’d get to fuck Sherlock one more time, but this is lovely too, relaxing on his back and letting Sherlock take care of him.

But then, just when John begins to feel his orgasm building, Sherlock stops, and when John opens his eyes, he finds Sherlock straddling him and getting ready to sink down on John’s cock.

“Sherlock? You don’t have to— _ahhh!_ ” Before John can finish the sentence, Sherlock bears down, impaling himself on John’s cock in one smooth movement. They both cry out – it’s been some time since the last time John was inside him, and Sherlock’s passage has had time to tighten again. It grips John like a vice, hot and tight.

“Fuck!” John swears, and despite his exhaustion he has to fight the urge to buck up. “Oh god, Sherlock.”

Sherlock hums in response and begins rocking his hips gently. He was soft when he first sank down, but with every slow circle of his hips he’s getting harder, and despite how close to orgasm John feels, he immediately decides he _must_ hold out until Sherlock comes again.

“John,” Sherlock moans softly and then throws his head back when he finally finds the right angle and begins rocking with more purpose. “ _Oh, John!_ ”

He’s utterly gorgeous like this, drenched in sweat and fucking himself on John’s cock with abandon. John places his hands on Sherlock’s hips as Sherlock starts moving up and down, and he feels Sherlock’s entire body quiver with exertion. Feeling a sudden need to hug him, John sits up, careful not to disengage them, and wraps his arms around Sherlock’s waist.

“You feel so good,” he murmurs, and takes Sherlock’s left nipple into his mouth

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock nearly sobs, and his arms come up around John’s neck. He slows his movements again, and they rock together for a while, Sherlock’s shoulders hunched as he bows his head down to John’s, breathing hotly on John’s ear. When John thinks he can’t possibly take it any longer, Sherlock begins moving in earnest, lifting himself up and then grinding down. His moans have a desperate quality to them now, and his body trembles in John’s arms.

“Sherlock, love, d’you need me to be on top…?” John offers, because he doesn’t think Sherlock can keep it up for much longer, but Sherlock shakes his head vehemently.

“Need—to come—like this,” he pants and rides John harder, slapping his hips down with all the force he can muster. John doesn’t have enough leverage for more than very minute thrusts, but he moves his hands to Sherlock’s luscious arse and begins lifting him up and pulling him down, bearing some of his weight.

“ _Aahhh, John!_ Please, _please!_ ”

“Touch yourself,” John tells him and Sherlock does so immediately, and throwing his head back as John helps him to move faster.

“ _Oh please, please, I need, please,_ ” Sherlock babbles, moving frantically and fisting his cock hard and fast. John can physically _feel_ Sherlock’s desperate need to come, and suddenly it’s too much for John, and he bucks up as hard as his limited range of motion allows him, bringing Sherlock’s hips down to meet him, and his orgasm explodes at the base of his spine.

He hears Sherlock shout as John’s cock spurts inside him, and then Sherlock is coming too, his muscles fluttering and clenching around John, milking the last drops of John’s release out of him.

“Fuck,” John breathes as he comes back down from one of the most intense orgasms of his life. His arms ache and his arse is sore, but it was certainly worth it. “That was – Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s in John’s lap, his head bent down, breathing fast and shivering violently.

“Sherlock, love.” Very gently, John manoeuvres them to lie back down, slipping out of Sherlock’s limp body in the process. Sherlock is drenched in cooling sweat, his face flushed and wet with tears and his breathing fast and shallow. It isn’t the first time this has happened, and it really isn’t surprising that Sherlock had pushed his body a little too far, but the sight rattles John enough to shake him out of his post-orgasmic lassitude.

“It’s okay, love, you’re okay,” he whispers soothingly, pushing Sherlock’s hair away from his damp forehead. “Just breathe with me, okay? Nice and slow.” He places Sherlock’s hand on his chest and makes himself breathe slowly and deeply so that Sherlock can match his breathing to his. “There you go, very good. Nice and slow, that’s right.”

John pulls the covers over them – they’re disgustingly filthy at this point, but it doesn’t matter. Gradually, Sherlock’s shivers subside and his breathing evens out. John wipes his tears away with his thumb, and Sherlock opens his eyes slowly, heavy-lidded and unfocused.

“Back with me?” John asks. Sherlock makes a nondescript sound in response, but that’s enough. “You’ve done incredibly well tonight, do you know? You’re a marvel.”

Sherlock sighs quietly and his fingers curl around John’s arm, and John knows that if Sherlock were able to move, he’d be burrowing closer to John now. John wants nothing more than to take Sherlock in his arms, pull him close and soothe him to sleep, but his throat is parched and Sherlock’s must be doubly so, with how vocal he’d been, and John forgot to refill the water bottle.

“I’ll just bring us some water, all right?” he says, kissing Sherlock’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.”

He pads to the kitchen as quickly as his worn out body lets him, but by the time he gets back Sherlock is shivering again and this time his eyes are wide with something like panic. John curses under his breath, berating himself for letting himself forget how out of it Sherlock can get after – how many orgasms exactly? – and how badly he needs John’s closeness afterwards. 

“It’s all right, love, I’m here.” He slides back under the covers, pulling Sherlock close. Sherlock latches onto him, letting out a dry sob. “I’m so sorry, darling, I’m back now and won’t leave again, I promise. Here, I brought you some water. You’ll drink a bit, won’t you?”

John holds Sherlock’s head up with one hand and brings the bottle to his lips with the other. At first he seems barely able to swallow and water dribbles down his chin, but he revives gradually drinks greedily before collapsing back down on the pillow with a sigh. John takes a few quick gulps of his own and then lies back down, pulling Sherlock half on top of his chest, knowing Sherlock feels safest like this.

“Don’t go,” Sherlock croaks and with what seems like superhuman effort, he pulls one arm and leg over John’s body, holding him close.

“I won’t,” John promises, tightening his arms around him. “Go to sleep, love, hmm? I’ll be right here and never let you go.”

Sherlock is asleep within minutes, puffing hot breath on John’s chest. John knows he should do something to clean them up a bit, but he really doesn’t want to move, and he figures that at this point it really doesn’t matter that they’re covered in dried sweat and come. He presses a kiss to the top of Sherlock’s head and finally lets himself relax and drift off, too.


End file.
